Horacio Ashmont's Arc

Chapter 1 of 12

Horacio stood across the street from the old warehouse, watching a man in a pressed suit measure the building's facade with his eyes. The warehouse looked ready to collapse, but that didn't matter to Horacio. Behind those rotting boards lay the main entrance to his tunnels, the secret routes he guarded like a dragon hoards gold. The suited man pulled out a clipboard and started writing notes. Horacio's chest tightened. If they tore down this building, his whole network would be exposed. Worse, the street folk who depended on those tunnels for shelter would have nowhere safe to sleep when winter came. He needed money for a room of his own, true, but not like this. Not by losing everything he'd built below ground. Horacio crossed the street and cleared his throat. The man looked up, startled. "Help you?" he asked. Horacio forced a smile. "Just wondering what you're planning for this old beauty." The developer gestured at a freshly hammered sign beside the entrance. Bold red letters warned the building was condemned. "Demolition starts next month," he said. "Prime spot for new flats. You live around here?" Horacio's mind raced. A month to find new routes, move supplies, relocate people who trusted him. Or a month to scrape together enough coin to buy time. He'd spent years protecting these tunnels for free. Maybe it was time to make them pay. "I might know some history about this place," Horacio said carefully. "The kind developers find expensive to ignore." The man's eyes narrowed with interest. The developer offered twenty pounds for a tour. Horacio led him around back to where weeds swallowed the old storm cellar doors. The heavy wood groaned as Horacio pulled them open, revealing stone steps disappearing into darkness. "Victorian tunnels run under half the East End," he said. "Survey crew hits one of those, your whole project stops for months. Archaeological assessments. Council inspections." He watched the developer's face go pale. "But I know every tunnel under this block. For the right price, I could map them out. Help you avoid trouble." The developer pulled out his wallet and counted out fifty pounds. "Draw me that map by Friday." Horacio pocketed the money. First real payment toward his room, and all it cost was a few harmless lies about tunnels that didn't actually run where he'd claim.